Huh. And here I thought I was good at fact checking. Just went through the flowchart and you're correct. Even going through Slow Recovery, you're forced to decide between lunch with Shizune + Misha and lunch with Emi + Rin. The former puts you with Shizune, the latter with Emi. Well, damn.ProfAllister wrote:Actually, you can't. Rin pretty much falls off the face of the Earth after "The Other Green" in Shizune's route. In Shizune's route, you have lunch with Misha and Shizune. In the other routes, you have lunch with Rin and Emi, either because Emi invited you in apology, or because you were lost and directionless. Shizune route means you never even see Emi or Rin again.DaGarver wrote:I think it happens regardless of who's path you're on, just to establish Emi and Rin as friends. Even if it doesn't, it definitely occurs on Emi's path through Act 1, and you can just take the path to Slow Recovery and get to Shizune that way, while still following Emi around in the first half or so of Act 1.griffon8 wrote:Part of my confusion was the mention of Hisao having lunch on the roof with Emi & Rin. I don't think that happens if you're on Shizune's path. But that's a minor continuity error.
DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 11/28)
Re: Shine On You [Shizune]
Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 9/17)
I wrote this one last night in Steam, line by line. Got some good reactions from it, and I wanted to share. It's fairly short, one of the shorter ones I've done in recent memory.
A Long December
pastebin:
December in southern Japan proves to be cold and wet. It doesn't snow, we're too close to the ocean and the tropic lines for that. Rather, it rains. And rains. And rains. When it doesn't rain, the sky is overcast with angry, gray clouds. I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. Weeks? Months, maybe? It might be months.
It's kept me inside, focusing on my studies. Which is good, because exams will be creeping around the corner pretty soon. I have to do well. I'm a law student. It's expected of me. I need to make it through this, to be strong and show that I belong here. The stress is hard, but I can push through it.
It would be so much easier with him here.
It's been nine months and eleven days since I last saw him. We're still together, somehow. Pre-law has been so relentless with its onslaught of work that I haven't been able to visit him. And chemistry is doing the same to him. He's been complaining about all the work in his labs, but he enjoys it. Or, at least, I assume so. He hasn't gone completely insane yet, so I imagine he has to.
Our conversation has been restricted to e-mails and texting. About two months into the absence, I started resenting my deafness. Part of me wanted to be able to hear his voice. I bet its calming, soothing. He hummed into my neck once when we made love, just so I could feel it. Deep, groaning. That might have just been the sex, though.
Still... I miss him. More than I thought I would. I wish he could come lay down with me in my bed, let me curl up to him and just sleep with his arm around me. That's all I need, just some contact. Just some comfort.
I reach into the compact refrigerator sitting next to my desk and pull out a stick of string cheese. I don't think I've left my room, recently. Too much depression for anything but class and homework. My daily routine consists of waking up, going to class, doing my homework, and then reading until I fall asleep. There are weekly sign language club meetings to mix things up, but I've mostly been silent in those, too.
Some might say that I'm moping. That I'm hopelessly holding onto something, to someone that won't come back. That I'm clingy, that I refuse to let go of a boy that might not even be mine anymore. Maybe he isn't. Maybe he's seeing some other girl behind my back, tossing me aside without even having the decency to tell me. I don't know. I won't know until proven otherwise.
But I don't believe it.
He resisted once. He can resist a little longer.
We've made plans for the summer already. We'll be going to my family's summer house for a week or so. The three of us, like old friends should. Hideaki and Dad will be coming along, but I can live with it if I get to see Hisao and Misha again.
I stare out the window, nibbling on bits of mozzarella. The raindrops fall one by one, streaking down the window pane. I've started playing a game with them, watching to see which drops can reach the bottom first. I place bets, pretend like it's a derby of sorts, complete with odds and payoffs for each water droplet. It distracts me often enough when I need it to.
I wish it would stop raining. I think it might actually improve my mood.
My eyes turn back to this damned homework. The words flow together, meshing from individual kanji into one big, unreadable mess. Pain shoots through my head. I rub my temples with my fingers, massaging away the sharp jolts. Or at least trying to.
I really need a break.
I stand up and head to the small wardrobe that came with my dorm room, swinging the doors open and pulling out my raincoat. I haven't changed out of my school clothes for the day - a pair of dark pants and a matching red top - so I just need my rainboots and umbrella. The plain black boots are easy to slip on, and I throw the raincoat over my shoulders, taking my umbrella in hand and walking out of the entrance to my room.
One or two girls pass by me in the hall. The way they look at me is strange. Surprised, almost. I don't blame them, I am not often seen outside of the classroom or club meetings.
No one else bothers me. I check one of the mirrors in the foyer and see why: my eyes are baggy, tired. My hair is disheveled, thrown into a chaotic frenzy across my forehead. I'm a complete wreck, both emotionally and physically. Have I really gone outside looking like this on a daily basis? Surely not. It would be unacceptable. I'm better than that.
But reflections don't lie. At least not now.
I turn from the mirror and step out the front door, extending my umbrella overhead. The rain has lightened a little since I left my room. I've never been the superstitious type, but maybe it's a sign. Maybe things will turn around soon. They damn well better.
Come on, Shizune. Get out there. Just take a walk, it will help calm your nerves. What would Misha say if she saw you right now? “Shicchan, you look awful! C'mon, let's go shopping, that'll cheer you up~!”
What about Hisao? Would he even look at me, with the turmoil painted on my face? I hope so. I love that boy something fierce. I don't know what I'd do if he couldn't even look at me.
I take the first step, my boot splashing into a puddle just off the steps. Water fires upward, barely grazing my pant leg. I'm glad it's the end of the day. Campus is mostly barren, devoid of anyone to pester me. I just need some alone time. Some time to think and figure out what's going through my head right now.
Vibrations ripple through the handle of my umbrella, the falling raindrops pitter-pattering against the overhead canvas. Hisao described the sound of it to me one time. That it was like a constant tapping, but not like a teacher's fingers against his desk. Rather, it was relaxing. Calming. Somewhat loud, yet entirely peaceful. It seems so abstract, so foreign. But their effects flowing into my fingertips give me some idea.
He was right; we should have taken more walks in the rain. It was one of his weird fantasies that I never saw fit to indulge. I mean, how cliche is that, a couple kissing in the rain? I was silly, looking back. It would've made him happy if I went with him, even only once. One of those regrets that I still have. There were so many things that I could have done better during our time together at Yamaku.
I should have told him about Misha, before that nonsense went down. She later told me what happened that afternoon in his room, how she went after him, and he pushed her away. Whether out of faithfulness or just some solid sense of morality, he managed to resist her. I'm glad he did. I can't imagine what would have happened if he went through with it.
Sometimes I think maybe he shouldn't have come to my house for the summer. How much would be different if he hadn't? Would Misha have fallen into that total depression like she did? There were a few times I was glad he was there. Fishing with the Satous. The two of us alone in the guest room. But it was so hard to manage him and Misha at once, to find a balance of time equally spent with them both. I often wondered if it was worth it.
There were those times when he and I talked alone that made it feel like it was. I always longed for those moments, when we could banter back and forth, when he went along with my games. He could talk to me. One of the few who could. That alone made it all worthwhile. We had struggles like any couple does. We disagreed at times, but we always came to terms with our differences. He was always so forgiving, so caring and honest.
He once told me that he loved me, right before graduation. I didn't say it back. That's my biggest regret, even now.
Yet, despite all of the shit that I put him through, he stayed with me. Why? Does he think me some kind of goddess? Someone incapable of faults? Surely not. He's smarter than that. He can see right through me, I know it. He can see me for the imperfect human being that I am, coupled with her own problems and misguided ways of trying to fix them.
This relationship did a lot for me, even if he doesn't realize it. He's been perfection on legs. Clueless at times, but always well-meaning. I don't know what I would do without him.
And that's what scares me the most. I've never been so dependent on someone. I've never trusted someone with everything that I am. He seemingly does, and so effortlessly. Why? Why is it so easy for him? Why can't I trust people as easily as he does? I have him and Misha. And neither are here right now, when I need them most.
I feel like I've failed them, in some regard. I lusted for power in high school; I chased down that presidency and won it fair and square. But I isolated the rest of the council at the same time. It was only Misha and me for a while. Hisao came along, but it was still only three people doing a job meant for ten or twelve. I worked them to the bone, but they stuck by me.
There's that notion again: faithfulness. They were true friends. I should have done more for them. Should have shown more appreciation than I did. We had one of the most successful festivals that last year, and it was all on the backs of three people. Tanabata, too.
Ah, Tanabata. My fondest memory. It was when Hisao and I finally came together, when we had our moment under the stars. Still one of the most magical nights of my life. I wasn't sure at first. No one had ever asked me to be their girlfriend before. Well, not a guy, at least. But I knew that I wanted him in my life, in some way, and I was willing to try my hand at it.
And then there was that memento. The gift he gave me: the stuffed cat doll. I still have it. It's sitting on my bed in my dorm room. Once or twice, I've missed him so badly that I start shaking. The doll's brought me through those. It still carries his scent. That's enough to get me by, when I'm at my worst.
I feel a buzzing in my pocket. I reach inside, pulling out my phone. The screen blares that I have a new message. I flip it open to investigate.
It's from Hisao. “Hey there. =] How's your day?”
I want to tell him the truth. That I miss him more than he can imagine. That I need him right now. But I don't want him to worry. He doesn't need to worry about me. He has his own problems to deal with, his own challenges to tackle.
“Okay. Just finishing up some homework. How about you?”
It's not a complete lie. I will be here after I make another round through campus. I've managed to work my way from the southern end of campus to the dead center. Now is as good of a place to turn around as any.
My pocket buzzes again. “Walking around campus. Just thought of you and wanted to say hi. I won't bother you, if you're busy.”
“No, it's fine. I like talking to you.”
The rain starts to slow more. Is it finally going to let up? Threads of sunlight start peering through the clouds, as if by magic. It's so good to see the sun again, if only briefly. Quickly obstructed by the gray clouds, the light fades and gives way to more rain. A girl can dream, I suppose.
Bzzzzz. “Good to know I'm still entertaining.”
Dead end to the conversation. But he'll expect something back. Either I'll start up a new topic or he will. I can take the initiative. I type out my response, standing on the sidewalk and reading it over and over again. Do I want to say this? I feel like I have to, like it's some confession that needs to be made. Yet it's so simplistic, something that should be so easily fulfilled. And doesn't he know it already?
I wait at least a minute before I hit send. “I miss you.”
I lean up against one of the buildings, standing beneath an awning and retracting my umbrella. If these past few months have taught me anything, it's just how dependent I am on him. I hate to admit that, but it's the truth. I need this boy... this man in my life. I refuse to lose him, as long as he'll let me stay.
The screen of my phone lights up as I twirl it between my fingers. “I miss you, too.”
I flip the hinge open. “Can we do something about it? Meet up somewhere or something? I know you're hours away, but... I need to see you. Sooner rather than later.” It snaps shut and goes back to being twirled in my fingers. My eyes stay fixed on the concrete. Just something blank to look at. One of those times where you just stare into nothing and let the thoughts roll off your mental tongue. Good for the soul. Good for the heart.
There's that buzzing again.
“Yeah. Look up.”
It's not that simple, Hisao. It can't be that easy. I'm not just going to turn my head to the sky and see you descending down from the heavens with the trump of the archangel. You're hundreds of kilometers away. And it kills me inside, sometimes, just thinking about that.
Unless...
In front of the steps to the building stands a tall, slender figure beneath a dark red umbrella. He's dressed in khaki slacks, a black button-down only fastened halfway up his chest, and a white undershirt. His eyes are brown, his smile is sincere, and there's a mop of messy, light brown hair on his head.
No...
I don't bother getting out my own cover. His is big enough for two, and I wouldn't care if it wasn't. I'm too excited. Too filled with joy at seeing him again. I rush into him, my arms wrapping tightly around his waist. I press my head against his chest, feeling the irregular beats of his heart against my skull. He drops the umbrella, and both of his hands come to rest at the base of my neck. His lips meet the top of my head over and over as the downpour continues on top of us.
If it weren't still raining, I think I might be crying. I think I might be anyways. I'm just glad he can't see, either way.
My hands drift up his torso, lingering on his jawline. I pull him into a long, tender kiss, running my fingers through his hair. Just further proof that he's really here. The rain keeps falling, and the world keeps turning. But, right now, time stands still. It's all I wanted. It's all I needed.
He parts from me, but I don't want to. My face feels hot, and I want to just keep him here, locked in my embrace. “[You look terrible,]” he signs. “[Exhausted, even.]”
I feel out my face. The bags are still there, but the rain has matted my hair down. I was able to catch a break in that, at least. “[Well, it's been a long time without you,]” I finally reply. “[No reason to dress up, you know?]”
He puts his hands on my shoulders, tracing them along my collar, up my neck and across my cheeks. I shudder at his touch. His skin is ice cold from the rain and wind, but that's not why it makes me shiver. I close my eyes, reveling in his presence. His lips graze against mine again, soft and brief. Why does he have to tease me, here in my moment of complete weakness?
“[And yet still so beautiful.]” My cheeks flare up. I hate it when he sees me blushing. It makes me feel so vulnerable. I guess that doesn't really matter right now, does it? He laughs at my expense. “[You weren't kidding when you said you missed me,]” he signs.
“[The sarcasm isn't appreciated right now.]”
“[As if you'd have it any other way.]”
I give him a sincere smile, baring my teeth. He does the same. “[You're right,]” I reply. “[I wouldn't.]”
“[That's what I thought.]” He pulls me back into his arms, nestling his chin on my head and holding me tightly at my waist. My hands snake up his back, just holding him close. How he got here, I don't know. Nor do I care. All that matters is that he is here.
His heart keeps beating in an arrhythmic tandem. I don't know why, but it's soothing. To know he's alive, maybe? To feel just how real he is? Always was a mystery to me. But it still feels right. There I go being cliche again.
I break the embrace this time. There's one regret that still lingers on me. And I still need to make it up to him.
“[I love you,]” I sign slowly. With feeling. With meaning. The smile on his face is the biggest that I've ever seen it.
“[I love you, too.]” Blushing again. Curse this boy.
“[It's been a long December, Hisao.]”
“[Too long, if you ask me.]”
I mimic a giggle. I haven't felt happy enough to laugh in months. “[Why don't you make it up to me?]”
He smiles again. “[I think I can manage that.]” He turns around, extending his hand toward me. “[Come on. I'll walk you home.]”
I accept his offer. Our fingers lock together. The rain keeps falling, but the sun doesn't need to shine on me anymore. He lights up my life so much as it is.
Bliss.
----------
I'm too much of a sucker for happy endings, I suppose.
A Long December
pastebin:
December in southern Japan proves to be cold and wet. It doesn't snow, we're too close to the ocean and the tropic lines for that. Rather, it rains. And rains. And rains. When it doesn't rain, the sky is overcast with angry, gray clouds. I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. Weeks? Months, maybe? It might be months.
It's kept me inside, focusing on my studies. Which is good, because exams will be creeping around the corner pretty soon. I have to do well. I'm a law student. It's expected of me. I need to make it through this, to be strong and show that I belong here. The stress is hard, but I can push through it.
It would be so much easier with him here.
It's been nine months and eleven days since I last saw him. We're still together, somehow. Pre-law has been so relentless with its onslaught of work that I haven't been able to visit him. And chemistry is doing the same to him. He's been complaining about all the work in his labs, but he enjoys it. Or, at least, I assume so. He hasn't gone completely insane yet, so I imagine he has to.
Our conversation has been restricted to e-mails and texting. About two months into the absence, I started resenting my deafness. Part of me wanted to be able to hear his voice. I bet its calming, soothing. He hummed into my neck once when we made love, just so I could feel it. Deep, groaning. That might have just been the sex, though.
Still... I miss him. More than I thought I would. I wish he could come lay down with me in my bed, let me curl up to him and just sleep with his arm around me. That's all I need, just some contact. Just some comfort.
I reach into the compact refrigerator sitting next to my desk and pull out a stick of string cheese. I don't think I've left my room, recently. Too much depression for anything but class and homework. My daily routine consists of waking up, going to class, doing my homework, and then reading until I fall asleep. There are weekly sign language club meetings to mix things up, but I've mostly been silent in those, too.
Some might say that I'm moping. That I'm hopelessly holding onto something, to someone that won't come back. That I'm clingy, that I refuse to let go of a boy that might not even be mine anymore. Maybe he isn't. Maybe he's seeing some other girl behind my back, tossing me aside without even having the decency to tell me. I don't know. I won't know until proven otherwise.
But I don't believe it.
He resisted once. He can resist a little longer.
We've made plans for the summer already. We'll be going to my family's summer house for a week or so. The three of us, like old friends should. Hideaki and Dad will be coming along, but I can live with it if I get to see Hisao and Misha again.
I stare out the window, nibbling on bits of mozzarella. The raindrops fall one by one, streaking down the window pane. I've started playing a game with them, watching to see which drops can reach the bottom first. I place bets, pretend like it's a derby of sorts, complete with odds and payoffs for each water droplet. It distracts me often enough when I need it to.
I wish it would stop raining. I think it might actually improve my mood.
My eyes turn back to this damned homework. The words flow together, meshing from individual kanji into one big, unreadable mess. Pain shoots through my head. I rub my temples with my fingers, massaging away the sharp jolts. Or at least trying to.
I really need a break.
I stand up and head to the small wardrobe that came with my dorm room, swinging the doors open and pulling out my raincoat. I haven't changed out of my school clothes for the day - a pair of dark pants and a matching red top - so I just need my rainboots and umbrella. The plain black boots are easy to slip on, and I throw the raincoat over my shoulders, taking my umbrella in hand and walking out of the entrance to my room.
One or two girls pass by me in the hall. The way they look at me is strange. Surprised, almost. I don't blame them, I am not often seen outside of the classroom or club meetings.
No one else bothers me. I check one of the mirrors in the foyer and see why: my eyes are baggy, tired. My hair is disheveled, thrown into a chaotic frenzy across my forehead. I'm a complete wreck, both emotionally and physically. Have I really gone outside looking like this on a daily basis? Surely not. It would be unacceptable. I'm better than that.
But reflections don't lie. At least not now.
I turn from the mirror and step out the front door, extending my umbrella overhead. The rain has lightened a little since I left my room. I've never been the superstitious type, but maybe it's a sign. Maybe things will turn around soon. They damn well better.
Come on, Shizune. Get out there. Just take a walk, it will help calm your nerves. What would Misha say if she saw you right now? “Shicchan, you look awful! C'mon, let's go shopping, that'll cheer you up~!”
What about Hisao? Would he even look at me, with the turmoil painted on my face? I hope so. I love that boy something fierce. I don't know what I'd do if he couldn't even look at me.
I take the first step, my boot splashing into a puddle just off the steps. Water fires upward, barely grazing my pant leg. I'm glad it's the end of the day. Campus is mostly barren, devoid of anyone to pester me. I just need some alone time. Some time to think and figure out what's going through my head right now.
Vibrations ripple through the handle of my umbrella, the falling raindrops pitter-pattering against the overhead canvas. Hisao described the sound of it to me one time. That it was like a constant tapping, but not like a teacher's fingers against his desk. Rather, it was relaxing. Calming. Somewhat loud, yet entirely peaceful. It seems so abstract, so foreign. But their effects flowing into my fingertips give me some idea.
He was right; we should have taken more walks in the rain. It was one of his weird fantasies that I never saw fit to indulge. I mean, how cliche is that, a couple kissing in the rain? I was silly, looking back. It would've made him happy if I went with him, even only once. One of those regrets that I still have. There were so many things that I could have done better during our time together at Yamaku.
I should have told him about Misha, before that nonsense went down. She later told me what happened that afternoon in his room, how she went after him, and he pushed her away. Whether out of faithfulness or just some solid sense of morality, he managed to resist her. I'm glad he did. I can't imagine what would have happened if he went through with it.
Sometimes I think maybe he shouldn't have come to my house for the summer. How much would be different if he hadn't? Would Misha have fallen into that total depression like she did? There were a few times I was glad he was there. Fishing with the Satous. The two of us alone in the guest room. But it was so hard to manage him and Misha at once, to find a balance of time equally spent with them both. I often wondered if it was worth it.
There were those times when he and I talked alone that made it feel like it was. I always longed for those moments, when we could banter back and forth, when he went along with my games. He could talk to me. One of the few who could. That alone made it all worthwhile. We had struggles like any couple does. We disagreed at times, but we always came to terms with our differences. He was always so forgiving, so caring and honest.
He once told me that he loved me, right before graduation. I didn't say it back. That's my biggest regret, even now.
Yet, despite all of the shit that I put him through, he stayed with me. Why? Does he think me some kind of goddess? Someone incapable of faults? Surely not. He's smarter than that. He can see right through me, I know it. He can see me for the imperfect human being that I am, coupled with her own problems and misguided ways of trying to fix them.
This relationship did a lot for me, even if he doesn't realize it. He's been perfection on legs. Clueless at times, but always well-meaning. I don't know what I would do without him.
And that's what scares me the most. I've never been so dependent on someone. I've never trusted someone with everything that I am. He seemingly does, and so effortlessly. Why? Why is it so easy for him? Why can't I trust people as easily as he does? I have him and Misha. And neither are here right now, when I need them most.
I feel like I've failed them, in some regard. I lusted for power in high school; I chased down that presidency and won it fair and square. But I isolated the rest of the council at the same time. It was only Misha and me for a while. Hisao came along, but it was still only three people doing a job meant for ten or twelve. I worked them to the bone, but they stuck by me.
There's that notion again: faithfulness. They were true friends. I should have done more for them. Should have shown more appreciation than I did. We had one of the most successful festivals that last year, and it was all on the backs of three people. Tanabata, too.
Ah, Tanabata. My fondest memory. It was when Hisao and I finally came together, when we had our moment under the stars. Still one of the most magical nights of my life. I wasn't sure at first. No one had ever asked me to be their girlfriend before. Well, not a guy, at least. But I knew that I wanted him in my life, in some way, and I was willing to try my hand at it.
And then there was that memento. The gift he gave me: the stuffed cat doll. I still have it. It's sitting on my bed in my dorm room. Once or twice, I've missed him so badly that I start shaking. The doll's brought me through those. It still carries his scent. That's enough to get me by, when I'm at my worst.
I feel a buzzing in my pocket. I reach inside, pulling out my phone. The screen blares that I have a new message. I flip it open to investigate.
It's from Hisao. “Hey there. =] How's your day?”
I want to tell him the truth. That I miss him more than he can imagine. That I need him right now. But I don't want him to worry. He doesn't need to worry about me. He has his own problems to deal with, his own challenges to tackle.
“Okay. Just finishing up some homework. How about you?”
It's not a complete lie. I will be here after I make another round through campus. I've managed to work my way from the southern end of campus to the dead center. Now is as good of a place to turn around as any.
My pocket buzzes again. “Walking around campus. Just thought of you and wanted to say hi. I won't bother you, if you're busy.”
“No, it's fine. I like talking to you.”
The rain starts to slow more. Is it finally going to let up? Threads of sunlight start peering through the clouds, as if by magic. It's so good to see the sun again, if only briefly. Quickly obstructed by the gray clouds, the light fades and gives way to more rain. A girl can dream, I suppose.
Bzzzzz. “Good to know I'm still entertaining.”
Dead end to the conversation. But he'll expect something back. Either I'll start up a new topic or he will. I can take the initiative. I type out my response, standing on the sidewalk and reading it over and over again. Do I want to say this? I feel like I have to, like it's some confession that needs to be made. Yet it's so simplistic, something that should be so easily fulfilled. And doesn't he know it already?
I wait at least a minute before I hit send. “I miss you.”
I lean up against one of the buildings, standing beneath an awning and retracting my umbrella. If these past few months have taught me anything, it's just how dependent I am on him. I hate to admit that, but it's the truth. I need this boy... this man in my life. I refuse to lose him, as long as he'll let me stay.
The screen of my phone lights up as I twirl it between my fingers. “I miss you, too.”
I flip the hinge open. “Can we do something about it? Meet up somewhere or something? I know you're hours away, but... I need to see you. Sooner rather than later.” It snaps shut and goes back to being twirled in my fingers. My eyes stay fixed on the concrete. Just something blank to look at. One of those times where you just stare into nothing and let the thoughts roll off your mental tongue. Good for the soul. Good for the heart.
There's that buzzing again.
“Yeah. Look up.”
It's not that simple, Hisao. It can't be that easy. I'm not just going to turn my head to the sky and see you descending down from the heavens with the trump of the archangel. You're hundreds of kilometers away. And it kills me inside, sometimes, just thinking about that.
Unless...
In front of the steps to the building stands a tall, slender figure beneath a dark red umbrella. He's dressed in khaki slacks, a black button-down only fastened halfway up his chest, and a white undershirt. His eyes are brown, his smile is sincere, and there's a mop of messy, light brown hair on his head.
No...
I don't bother getting out my own cover. His is big enough for two, and I wouldn't care if it wasn't. I'm too excited. Too filled with joy at seeing him again. I rush into him, my arms wrapping tightly around his waist. I press my head against his chest, feeling the irregular beats of his heart against my skull. He drops the umbrella, and both of his hands come to rest at the base of my neck. His lips meet the top of my head over and over as the downpour continues on top of us.
If it weren't still raining, I think I might be crying. I think I might be anyways. I'm just glad he can't see, either way.
My hands drift up his torso, lingering on his jawline. I pull him into a long, tender kiss, running my fingers through his hair. Just further proof that he's really here. The rain keeps falling, and the world keeps turning. But, right now, time stands still. It's all I wanted. It's all I needed.
He parts from me, but I don't want to. My face feels hot, and I want to just keep him here, locked in my embrace. “[You look terrible,]” he signs. “[Exhausted, even.]”
I feel out my face. The bags are still there, but the rain has matted my hair down. I was able to catch a break in that, at least. “[Well, it's been a long time without you,]” I finally reply. “[No reason to dress up, you know?]”
He puts his hands on my shoulders, tracing them along my collar, up my neck and across my cheeks. I shudder at his touch. His skin is ice cold from the rain and wind, but that's not why it makes me shiver. I close my eyes, reveling in his presence. His lips graze against mine again, soft and brief. Why does he have to tease me, here in my moment of complete weakness?
“[And yet still so beautiful.]” My cheeks flare up. I hate it when he sees me blushing. It makes me feel so vulnerable. I guess that doesn't really matter right now, does it? He laughs at my expense. “[You weren't kidding when you said you missed me,]” he signs.
“[The sarcasm isn't appreciated right now.]”
“[As if you'd have it any other way.]”
I give him a sincere smile, baring my teeth. He does the same. “[You're right,]” I reply. “[I wouldn't.]”
“[That's what I thought.]” He pulls me back into his arms, nestling his chin on my head and holding me tightly at my waist. My hands snake up his back, just holding him close. How he got here, I don't know. Nor do I care. All that matters is that he is here.
His heart keeps beating in an arrhythmic tandem. I don't know why, but it's soothing. To know he's alive, maybe? To feel just how real he is? Always was a mystery to me. But it still feels right. There I go being cliche again.
I break the embrace this time. There's one regret that still lingers on me. And I still need to make it up to him.
“[I love you,]” I sign slowly. With feeling. With meaning. The smile on his face is the biggest that I've ever seen it.
“[I love you, too.]” Blushing again. Curse this boy.
“[It's been a long December, Hisao.]”
“[Too long, if you ask me.]”
I mimic a giggle. I haven't felt happy enough to laugh in months. “[Why don't you make it up to me?]”
He smiles again. “[I think I can manage that.]” He turns around, extending his hand toward me. “[Come on. I'll walk you home.]”
I accept his offer. Our fingers lock together. The rain keeps falling, but the sun doesn't need to shine on me anymore. He lights up my life so much as it is.
Bliss.
----------
I'm too much of a sucker for happy endings, I suppose.
Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 9/17)
That was beautiful. I suspected Hisao would be there to make it a happy ending, but you did a great job conveying the mood.
I found out about Katawa Shoujo through the forums of Misfile. There, I am the editor of Misfiled Dreams.
Completed: 100%, including bonus picture. Shizune>Emi>Lilly>Hanako>Rin
Griffon8's Writing
Completed: 100%, including bonus picture. Shizune>Emi>Lilly>Hanako>Rin
Griffon8's Writing
Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 9/17)
Dang, a happy ending, I was hoping for something sad, but it's still an amazing piece.
I am the Futa King, and shall remain so until my Bolvar comes.
Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 9/17)
It was difficult getting that across. Conveying the depression without sounding overly repetitive. Thankfully, there's a lot of room for Shizune to have regrets about things she did/didn't do during her route. The bad end goes through a lot of those, actually.griffon8 wrote:That was beautiful. I suspected Hisao would be there to make it a happy ending, but you did a great job conveying the mood.
It was worth hearing you rage right after I typed that line.Banda wrote:Dang, a happy ending, I was hoping for something sad, but it's still an amazing piece.
"Hey, Banda, you know how you said that I wanted to make it a happy ending, but couldn't? Yeah, about that..."
Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 9/17)
This is based on an idea I had a week or so ago, I just haven't had the time to write it out. It's meant to be another injection into the story (much like "Shine on You"), this time in Act 3, during their time at Shizune's house.
There is a musical scene. A link will be provided in the text when the music becomes important.
Cheers!
In One Accord
pastebin:
“[Remind me why we're doing this again?]” I sign.
Shizune turns to me, eyebrow arched. “[Because I haven't been down there in a while.]” She opens the door to her basement, which amounts to a gaping black hole in the wall face. “[And I like trips down memory lane every now and then.]”
“[But wouldn't the door being locked imply th-]” Her hands fly up and grip my wrists. I'm not very well-versed in the culture yet, but I can at least understand what she's getting at.
Glimmering sapphire... yeah, that's a good way to describe her eyes right now. “[Just look at it like another adventure.]” Shining blue meets the pearly white of her toothy grin. Scheming. Mischievous. Should I expect any different from her? Probably not. “[Another enjoyable experience with the perfect girlfriend.]” She adjusts her glasses, the lenses shimmering with glare.
“[Perfect now, are we?]” She nods. “[You'll have to convince me on that one.]”
“[I think I can do that.]” Her fingers run along the collar of my shirt, almost tugging at it. Seduction dripping from her smile, it's not hard to convince me to go along with whatever she has planned. “[I have my ways,]” she continues, biting her lower lip. I don't respond, much to her amusement. “[But for now, basement. Now.]”
“[Alright, alright, I'm going.]” I'm thankful she can't hear me grumbling or muttering obscenities through clenched lips.
She grabs at my sleeve, as she always does when we wander into complete darkness. I imagine there has to be some kind of light switch here pretty soon, otherwise this will be a very short trip. I usually walk faster than she does, but my pace deliberately slows just to make it easier for her to keep up. Each step is taken cautiously; walking with two pairs of legs makes coordination that much harder, not to mention when trying to descend a staircase into an unlit void.
Our footsteps fall synchronously, each plank of wood creaking and groaning from the pressure. I put one of my hands on the outer wall, just to have something to hold onto myself. A slight bump in the surface brings me to a halt, not to mention almost sending Shizune down the stairs and taking me with her. The deformity feels familiar... yep, that's the light switch.
A flick of the switch illuminates the remainder of the staircase - revealing that we are roughly halfway down - along with what I assume is the basement at the bottom. Shizune releases my sleeve, finishing her trip down the leftover steps alone. The light below is dim, leaving portions of the floor clouded. It's an interesting backdrop for her as she walks: strangely graceful, and completely fitting.
I follow her down the stairs. It seems that the basement light is darker than I thought, as my sight is incredibly limited. I tap Shizune on the shoulder to grab her attention once we reach the bottom. “[You sure about this?]”
She squints; she must have as much trouble seeing as I do. She shrugs her shoulders. “[That remains to be seen.]” Great, definitely the answer I wanted to hear.
She wanders off, and I follow like a lost puppy. I can make out a small shelf hanging on one of the far walls, and I assume that it's her target. As we close in on the wall, several shadowy forms start to take shape. Detail slowly fills in, and they look a lot like porcelain dolls. After a few more steps, I can definitely confirm that they are porcelain dolls.
One of the little toys falls into her hands. She runs her fingers through its hair, caressing the glass face and adjusting its clothing. A smile creeps onto her face; this must be one of those trips down memory lane she was talking about. She takes another doll, doing the same as she did with the first.
“[Childhood memories?]” I ask.
“[Yes,]” she replies. “[These were toys of mine when I was a little girl. Gifts from my mother.]”
“[You don't talk about her much, do you?]” She answers with a shake of her head. “[Why not?]”
Another shrug of her shoulders. “[You never asked.]”
“[Well, I'm asking now.]”
A deep breath escapes her nostrils. “[Don't worry about it. I'll tell you later. For now, good memories.]” I'd prefer to talk about it now, obviously, but... whatever floats her boat, I suppose.
We take a few more trips down her memory lane. She finds a mirror that belonged to her mother, striking a few poses in the now dusty glass. “[Remind me to introduce you to her,]” she remarks, “[if I get the chance.]”
“[I'll hold you to that, you know.]”
She smiles. “[Good. I expect you to.]”
There's also a trunk, probably full of untold secrets. Digging through its contents, we find a set of old clothes. Notably, only one set, and only for girls. Naturally, I asked, “[Why not a set for boys?]”
“[You've never noticed how Hideaki wears girly-looking clothes?]”
“[Wait... those aren't hand-me-downs, are they?]” A simple nod is all it takes to give me strange mental images: of Hideaki actually in male clothing, of a young Shizune in his current outfit, and of an older Hideaki in what she wears now. I weep for that boy sometimes. I certainly hope he doesn't let his father's frugality with obscene amounts of money make him the laughingstock of his school. Or, at least, that he doesn't let it continue.
I turn my head back and forth. Seems I've lost track of her. Dammit, why can't I just call for her? That would make this so much easier. On the other hand, why is this basement so massive? The lights really aren't bright enough to illuminate the whole room, which only makes finding her that much harder.
Aha. Thanks to a stroke of luck, I manage to spot her standing in front of a large, cloth-covered mound sitting against the far wall. My curiosity's piqued. The floor creaks with each step I take, despite my attempts at lightening my pace. She glances backward, as if she heard me coming. Vibrations in the floor, I guess? How sensitive would her touch have to be to discern that?
She traces her fingers along the fabric, leaving lines of disturbed threading in their wake. I stuff my hands in my pockets, cocking my head to catch her attention when she glances at me. “[Another one of those memories?]” I sign. She only nods, pulling away the sheet and casting it onto the floor. A small upright piano sits exposed, accompanied by a stocky, decorated bench, the instrument's keys enveloped by a wooden cover. “[What on earth is that doing here?]” Jigoro doesn't seem like the musical type, and God forbid if he'd let Hideaki take up something like that.
She doesn't respond for a moment, instead just grazing the piano's texture as she did with the fabric. The cover on the keys finally comes up, and she responds. “[It's mine.]”
Okay, that strikes me as a bit odd. How can she play piano if she's deaf? “[Yours? How does that work?]”
She glares at me, as if I should understand perfectly. “[I own it. It was a gift. What do you mean ‘How does that work?’]”
“[Well...,]” I stop to scratch the back of my head, thinking about what I want to say. “[I mean, how do you play it? Can you even play?]”
A nod of her head. “[I used to play when I was little.]” She runs her fingers along the keys, feeling out the cracks and grooves in the otherwise smooth surfaces. A single key press emits the corresponding note. I wonder what music is like to Shizune? “[It was my mother's idea.]” There it is, her mother again. “[She never wanted me to feel truly disabled, like I couldn't do something just because I was deaf. I guess music was one of those things.]”
Is that why she doesn't like talking about her mother? Was her mother the only one who ever really saw her disability as something to be embraced, not necessarily overcome? “[What do you mean it was her idea? You didn't like the sound of it?]” I have to admit, it's still hard to not use idioms like that around her.
“[No, I did.]” Thankfully, she's learned not to worry about it. Or she doesn't seem to care. “[Liked the idea, that is. It was a hobby, something to do. Something to distract me from the mundane and the ordinary.]”
“[But how did you learn?]” I reply in turn. It strikes me that I still don't know that much about Shizune's past. “[Wasn't it hard for you to understand it?]”
“[It was very... abstract. Alien.]” She pauses, affirming that those words are correct. “[But I had a good teacher.]” A smile wipes across her face. The memories must be pleasant. “[He taught me about Beethoven. And even though I was born deaf, it was inspiring. That a man who could no longer hear could become famous for his craft... why should it stop me?]”
“[That's so very like you,]” I sign affirmatively. She cocks her head. “[Headstrong, unwavering... never willing to take 'no' for an answer.]” I pause. And smile. “[It's what I like most about you.]”
She gives me a light shove on the arm, and I respond playfully by faking a fall off the piano bench. She mimics a giggle, pulling me back up on the bench. “[I could say the same thing about how playful you are.]”
“[You mean you actually like me? What a surprise!]”
“[Well, I did let you come to my house. I'm willing to show you my father and you seem willing to put up with him.]” She adjusts her glasses, her smile almost resembling a smirk. “[I'd say that's pretty close to liking you, don't you think?]”
“[I suppose so.]” My grin turns cheeky, suggestive even. “[I could stand to use more convincing, though.]”
She's more than happy to oblige, wrapping her hands around the back of my neck and pulling our lips together. For a faint moment, I feel like I'm floating. As if there's nothing else in the world to care about. There is only this girl and me, and the sensation is completely overwhelming. When she pulls away, the softness of her skin still lingers. My face feels unnaturally hot, like it's flushed... I'm not blushing, am I?
“[Convinced?]” she asks. I don't respond. I just blink quickly, not sure how to react. She, of course, takes great amusement in this. “[I'll take the blushing as a yes.]” Dammit.
She strikes a few keys as I try to parse what has happened. The improvised melody she concocts is actually rather soothing. It even sounds familiar, though I can't quite put my finger on how. It's jazzy, which I suppose fits her. Sounds almost like American 1920's music. But slower, more refined, and more relaxed. Her fingers dance along the keys, hitting each lightly, but with an air of perfect confidence. She knows what she's playing; each note is chosen deliberately. How? How does she do it?
She catches me watching her, and a flare of red creeps across her own cheeks. “[I like jazz.]”
Thank you, Captain Obvious. “[I assumed, since you were playing it.]”
She shrugs her shoulders. “[I was just thinking of when I still played, and the music just... came to me, I guess.]”
So she can improvise. Impressive. “[Do you know any actual songs?]”
She thinks for a moment before answering. “[I never learned any jazz songs.]” Something clicks in her brain, evidenced by the glimmer in her eyes. Her fingers come to rest on the keys again, and she assumes proper posture. She hits her hips against mine, trying to nudge me over so she can center herself on the bench. “[But my teacher did show me a lot of Debussy.]”
My ears perk up. “[Can you play some for me?]”
The smile on her face is wordlessly beautiful. “[Worth a shot.]” She takes her position, reaffirming her seat on the bench.
Music
Pairs of keys fall in simultaneous strikes at first. The melody is soft, clear, and peaceful. She makes ample use of her dampening pedal, causing the notes to meld together and resonate through the small room. The vibrations ripple through the wood of the piano and into the bench, slowly drifting to my extremities. I don't think I've ever had a real piano played in front of me before, but the experience is... marvelous, to say the least.
Her dainty fingers drift from key to key, her nails quietly clicking against the ivory. She adds a secondary tune on top of the chord progression, emphasizing the warm, almost romantic nature of her music. Just looking at her eyes, at the determination and fire swirling in them... focused, refined, and so confident.
Her eyelids fall as she shifts into the next section of the song, her fingers almost banging on the keys in sixteenth beats for more volume. She shakes her head back and forth, in time with the defined rhythm. As she starts a flourish of ascending notes, she slows the movements in her neck in accompaniment with the first step in each staircase. She smiles, falling away into the very core of the music.
The tempo increases, and the notes start flying off the keyboard. Chords turn into arpeggios, crafting fresh melodies that are fluttering at first, then returning to that peace from the start of her work. The bobbing of her head returns, though much slower and less forceful. She catches sight of me, staring right into my eyes as her playing slows.
She freezes, realizing how invested she was in playing just now. She doesn't sign, hands frozen in a tinge of embarrassment. “[Sorry,]” she finally waves out.
“[Don't apologize,]” I reply in turn. “[That was beautiful.]”
A hint of red crawls into her cheeks again. “[It was... nothing, really.]”
“[Don't be so modest. You were...]” Is there a word for what I thought of her throughout that? I don't think so. “[Amazing. How do you do it?]”
“[The vibrations.]” The dumbfounded look on my face manages to pull further explanation out of her. “[I can... feel the music through my fingers. Through the keys.]” I guess that makes sense. How else would she know?
“[And you can tell which note is which?]”
She nods. “[Barely. That was the hardest part of learning.]” Her fingertips dance on the keys, outlining a muted score. “[The vibrations are different for each note. It took a long time to figure out which was which.]” She traces along the ivory keys again, almost looking dejected. “[I wish I could play more. Being at school limits that.]”
“[Why not join a music club?]” I suggest. “[Surely they have something like that.]”
She raises her eyebrow. “[A deaf-mute in a music club? Surely, you're joking.]” I shake my head, and she sighs. “[But what would they think of me? How would I convince them?]”
“[You just convinced me. Why can't you convince them?]”
“[It's not that easy. You're...]” A pause. “[Well, you.]”
“[What happened to that girl who didn't take 'no' for an answer?]” She perks her head up, inquisitive. I make sure to pick my words before I say them. They are infinitely important right now. “[I am nothing but a man, Shizune. A man that you just completely blew away in the span of a few minutes. You have a talent. You worked for this. You can do something extraordinary. Use it.]”
Her smile returns, almost hopeful. “[Thank you.]”
“[For what?]” I sign playfully. I know what I said, but I want her to acknowledge it. Call me egotistical.
She giggles. “[For believing in me. I appreciate it.]” That's something you don't hear every day from Shizune Hakamichi.
“[Well, what do you expect? I'm a pretty great guy, aren't I?]” I've really adapted her sarcasm, I think. At least she finds it amusing.
“[Yeah, you're not conceited at all,]” she snaps back with an evil grin.
“[And you're not?]”
“[Absolutely not.]” She adjusts her glasses, as she always does when trying to be snide. “[I deserve every ounce of praise.]”
We share a laugh, silent on both ends. I've noticed that I have started mimicking her giggles recently, only miming them instead of producing actual sound. She rubs off on you, that's for sure. Influential, as a good leader should be.
She stands up from the bench, smoothing out the front of her skirt and patting the back to knock loose any collected dust. I offer her my arm, wordlessly and without even a single sign. She knows the gesture and accepts my proposal. Perhaps there have been enough memories for one day. And so, arms intertwined, we march back up the staircase, shutting off the lights when we reach the halfway point.
The door shuts on today's walk back in time. But not necessarily forever.
“Hey!” a familiar voice booms. “Was that the door on my basement?!”
Remind me why this girl is worth it again?
There is a musical scene. A link will be provided in the text when the music becomes important.
Cheers!
In One Accord
pastebin:
“[Remind me why we're doing this again?]” I sign.
Shizune turns to me, eyebrow arched. “[Because I haven't been down there in a while.]” She opens the door to her basement, which amounts to a gaping black hole in the wall face. “[And I like trips down memory lane every now and then.]”
“[But wouldn't the door being locked imply th-]” Her hands fly up and grip my wrists. I'm not very well-versed in the culture yet, but I can at least understand what she's getting at.
Glimmering sapphire... yeah, that's a good way to describe her eyes right now. “[Just look at it like another adventure.]” Shining blue meets the pearly white of her toothy grin. Scheming. Mischievous. Should I expect any different from her? Probably not. “[Another enjoyable experience with the perfect girlfriend.]” She adjusts her glasses, the lenses shimmering with glare.
“[Perfect now, are we?]” She nods. “[You'll have to convince me on that one.]”
“[I think I can do that.]” Her fingers run along the collar of my shirt, almost tugging at it. Seduction dripping from her smile, it's not hard to convince me to go along with whatever she has planned. “[I have my ways,]” she continues, biting her lower lip. I don't respond, much to her amusement. “[But for now, basement. Now.]”
“[Alright, alright, I'm going.]” I'm thankful she can't hear me grumbling or muttering obscenities through clenched lips.
She grabs at my sleeve, as she always does when we wander into complete darkness. I imagine there has to be some kind of light switch here pretty soon, otherwise this will be a very short trip. I usually walk faster than she does, but my pace deliberately slows just to make it easier for her to keep up. Each step is taken cautiously; walking with two pairs of legs makes coordination that much harder, not to mention when trying to descend a staircase into an unlit void.
Our footsteps fall synchronously, each plank of wood creaking and groaning from the pressure. I put one of my hands on the outer wall, just to have something to hold onto myself. A slight bump in the surface brings me to a halt, not to mention almost sending Shizune down the stairs and taking me with her. The deformity feels familiar... yep, that's the light switch.
A flick of the switch illuminates the remainder of the staircase - revealing that we are roughly halfway down - along with what I assume is the basement at the bottom. Shizune releases my sleeve, finishing her trip down the leftover steps alone. The light below is dim, leaving portions of the floor clouded. It's an interesting backdrop for her as she walks: strangely graceful, and completely fitting.
I follow her down the stairs. It seems that the basement light is darker than I thought, as my sight is incredibly limited. I tap Shizune on the shoulder to grab her attention once we reach the bottom. “[You sure about this?]”
She squints; she must have as much trouble seeing as I do. She shrugs her shoulders. “[That remains to be seen.]” Great, definitely the answer I wanted to hear.
She wanders off, and I follow like a lost puppy. I can make out a small shelf hanging on one of the far walls, and I assume that it's her target. As we close in on the wall, several shadowy forms start to take shape. Detail slowly fills in, and they look a lot like porcelain dolls. After a few more steps, I can definitely confirm that they are porcelain dolls.
One of the little toys falls into her hands. She runs her fingers through its hair, caressing the glass face and adjusting its clothing. A smile creeps onto her face; this must be one of those trips down memory lane she was talking about. She takes another doll, doing the same as she did with the first.
“[Childhood memories?]” I ask.
“[Yes,]” she replies. “[These were toys of mine when I was a little girl. Gifts from my mother.]”
“[You don't talk about her much, do you?]” She answers with a shake of her head. “[Why not?]”
Another shrug of her shoulders. “[You never asked.]”
“[Well, I'm asking now.]”
A deep breath escapes her nostrils. “[Don't worry about it. I'll tell you later. For now, good memories.]” I'd prefer to talk about it now, obviously, but... whatever floats her boat, I suppose.
We take a few more trips down her memory lane. She finds a mirror that belonged to her mother, striking a few poses in the now dusty glass. “[Remind me to introduce you to her,]” she remarks, “[if I get the chance.]”
“[I'll hold you to that, you know.]”
She smiles. “[Good. I expect you to.]”
There's also a trunk, probably full of untold secrets. Digging through its contents, we find a set of old clothes. Notably, only one set, and only for girls. Naturally, I asked, “[Why not a set for boys?]”
“[You've never noticed how Hideaki wears girly-looking clothes?]”
“[Wait... those aren't hand-me-downs, are they?]” A simple nod is all it takes to give me strange mental images: of Hideaki actually in male clothing, of a young Shizune in his current outfit, and of an older Hideaki in what she wears now. I weep for that boy sometimes. I certainly hope he doesn't let his father's frugality with obscene amounts of money make him the laughingstock of his school. Or, at least, that he doesn't let it continue.
I turn my head back and forth. Seems I've lost track of her. Dammit, why can't I just call for her? That would make this so much easier. On the other hand, why is this basement so massive? The lights really aren't bright enough to illuminate the whole room, which only makes finding her that much harder.
Aha. Thanks to a stroke of luck, I manage to spot her standing in front of a large, cloth-covered mound sitting against the far wall. My curiosity's piqued. The floor creaks with each step I take, despite my attempts at lightening my pace. She glances backward, as if she heard me coming. Vibrations in the floor, I guess? How sensitive would her touch have to be to discern that?
She traces her fingers along the fabric, leaving lines of disturbed threading in their wake. I stuff my hands in my pockets, cocking my head to catch her attention when she glances at me. “[Another one of those memories?]” I sign. She only nods, pulling away the sheet and casting it onto the floor. A small upright piano sits exposed, accompanied by a stocky, decorated bench, the instrument's keys enveloped by a wooden cover. “[What on earth is that doing here?]” Jigoro doesn't seem like the musical type, and God forbid if he'd let Hideaki take up something like that.
She doesn't respond for a moment, instead just grazing the piano's texture as she did with the fabric. The cover on the keys finally comes up, and she responds. “[It's mine.]”
Okay, that strikes me as a bit odd. How can she play piano if she's deaf? “[Yours? How does that work?]”
She glares at me, as if I should understand perfectly. “[I own it. It was a gift. What do you mean ‘How does that work?’]”
“[Well...,]” I stop to scratch the back of my head, thinking about what I want to say. “[I mean, how do you play it? Can you even play?]”
A nod of her head. “[I used to play when I was little.]” She runs her fingers along the keys, feeling out the cracks and grooves in the otherwise smooth surfaces. A single key press emits the corresponding note. I wonder what music is like to Shizune? “[It was my mother's idea.]” There it is, her mother again. “[She never wanted me to feel truly disabled, like I couldn't do something just because I was deaf. I guess music was one of those things.]”
Is that why she doesn't like talking about her mother? Was her mother the only one who ever really saw her disability as something to be embraced, not necessarily overcome? “[What do you mean it was her idea? You didn't like the sound of it?]” I have to admit, it's still hard to not use idioms like that around her.
“[No, I did.]” Thankfully, she's learned not to worry about it. Or she doesn't seem to care. “[Liked the idea, that is. It was a hobby, something to do. Something to distract me from the mundane and the ordinary.]”
“[But how did you learn?]” I reply in turn. It strikes me that I still don't know that much about Shizune's past. “[Wasn't it hard for you to understand it?]”
“[It was very... abstract. Alien.]” She pauses, affirming that those words are correct. “[But I had a good teacher.]” A smile wipes across her face. The memories must be pleasant. “[He taught me about Beethoven. And even though I was born deaf, it was inspiring. That a man who could no longer hear could become famous for his craft... why should it stop me?]”
“[That's so very like you,]” I sign affirmatively. She cocks her head. “[Headstrong, unwavering... never willing to take 'no' for an answer.]” I pause. And smile. “[It's what I like most about you.]”
She gives me a light shove on the arm, and I respond playfully by faking a fall off the piano bench. She mimics a giggle, pulling me back up on the bench. “[I could say the same thing about how playful you are.]”
“[You mean you actually like me? What a surprise!]”
“[Well, I did let you come to my house. I'm willing to show you my father and you seem willing to put up with him.]” She adjusts her glasses, her smile almost resembling a smirk. “[I'd say that's pretty close to liking you, don't you think?]”
“[I suppose so.]” My grin turns cheeky, suggestive even. “[I could stand to use more convincing, though.]”
She's more than happy to oblige, wrapping her hands around the back of my neck and pulling our lips together. For a faint moment, I feel like I'm floating. As if there's nothing else in the world to care about. There is only this girl and me, and the sensation is completely overwhelming. When she pulls away, the softness of her skin still lingers. My face feels unnaturally hot, like it's flushed... I'm not blushing, am I?
“[Convinced?]” she asks. I don't respond. I just blink quickly, not sure how to react. She, of course, takes great amusement in this. “[I'll take the blushing as a yes.]” Dammit.
She strikes a few keys as I try to parse what has happened. The improvised melody she concocts is actually rather soothing. It even sounds familiar, though I can't quite put my finger on how. It's jazzy, which I suppose fits her. Sounds almost like American 1920's music. But slower, more refined, and more relaxed. Her fingers dance along the keys, hitting each lightly, but with an air of perfect confidence. She knows what she's playing; each note is chosen deliberately. How? How does she do it?
She catches me watching her, and a flare of red creeps across her own cheeks. “[I like jazz.]”
Thank you, Captain Obvious. “[I assumed, since you were playing it.]”
She shrugs her shoulders. “[I was just thinking of when I still played, and the music just... came to me, I guess.]”
So she can improvise. Impressive. “[Do you know any actual songs?]”
She thinks for a moment before answering. “[I never learned any jazz songs.]” Something clicks in her brain, evidenced by the glimmer in her eyes. Her fingers come to rest on the keys again, and she assumes proper posture. She hits her hips against mine, trying to nudge me over so she can center herself on the bench. “[But my teacher did show me a lot of Debussy.]”
My ears perk up. “[Can you play some for me?]”
The smile on her face is wordlessly beautiful. “[Worth a shot.]” She takes her position, reaffirming her seat on the bench.
Music
Pairs of keys fall in simultaneous strikes at first. The melody is soft, clear, and peaceful. She makes ample use of her dampening pedal, causing the notes to meld together and resonate through the small room. The vibrations ripple through the wood of the piano and into the bench, slowly drifting to my extremities. I don't think I've ever had a real piano played in front of me before, but the experience is... marvelous, to say the least.
Her dainty fingers drift from key to key, her nails quietly clicking against the ivory. She adds a secondary tune on top of the chord progression, emphasizing the warm, almost romantic nature of her music. Just looking at her eyes, at the determination and fire swirling in them... focused, refined, and so confident.
Her eyelids fall as she shifts into the next section of the song, her fingers almost banging on the keys in sixteenth beats for more volume. She shakes her head back and forth, in time with the defined rhythm. As she starts a flourish of ascending notes, she slows the movements in her neck in accompaniment with the first step in each staircase. She smiles, falling away into the very core of the music.
The tempo increases, and the notes start flying off the keyboard. Chords turn into arpeggios, crafting fresh melodies that are fluttering at first, then returning to that peace from the start of her work. The bobbing of her head returns, though much slower and less forceful. She catches sight of me, staring right into my eyes as her playing slows.
She freezes, realizing how invested she was in playing just now. She doesn't sign, hands frozen in a tinge of embarrassment. “[Sorry,]” she finally waves out.
“[Don't apologize,]” I reply in turn. “[That was beautiful.]”
A hint of red crawls into her cheeks again. “[It was... nothing, really.]”
“[Don't be so modest. You were...]” Is there a word for what I thought of her throughout that? I don't think so. “[Amazing. How do you do it?]”
“[The vibrations.]” The dumbfounded look on my face manages to pull further explanation out of her. “[I can... feel the music through my fingers. Through the keys.]” I guess that makes sense. How else would she know?
“[And you can tell which note is which?]”
She nods. “[Barely. That was the hardest part of learning.]” Her fingertips dance on the keys, outlining a muted score. “[The vibrations are different for each note. It took a long time to figure out which was which.]” She traces along the ivory keys again, almost looking dejected. “[I wish I could play more. Being at school limits that.]”
“[Why not join a music club?]” I suggest. “[Surely they have something like that.]”
She raises her eyebrow. “[A deaf-mute in a music club? Surely, you're joking.]” I shake my head, and she sighs. “[But what would they think of me? How would I convince them?]”
“[You just convinced me. Why can't you convince them?]”
“[It's not that easy. You're...]” A pause. “[Well, you.]”
“[What happened to that girl who didn't take 'no' for an answer?]” She perks her head up, inquisitive. I make sure to pick my words before I say them. They are infinitely important right now. “[I am nothing but a man, Shizune. A man that you just completely blew away in the span of a few minutes. You have a talent. You worked for this. You can do something extraordinary. Use it.]”
Her smile returns, almost hopeful. “[Thank you.]”
“[For what?]” I sign playfully. I know what I said, but I want her to acknowledge it. Call me egotistical.
She giggles. “[For believing in me. I appreciate it.]” That's something you don't hear every day from Shizune Hakamichi.
“[Well, what do you expect? I'm a pretty great guy, aren't I?]” I've really adapted her sarcasm, I think. At least she finds it amusing.
“[Yeah, you're not conceited at all,]” she snaps back with an evil grin.
“[And you're not?]”
“[Absolutely not.]” She adjusts her glasses, as she always does when trying to be snide. “[I deserve every ounce of praise.]”
We share a laugh, silent on both ends. I've noticed that I have started mimicking her giggles recently, only miming them instead of producing actual sound. She rubs off on you, that's for sure. Influential, as a good leader should be.
She stands up from the bench, smoothing out the front of her skirt and patting the back to knock loose any collected dust. I offer her my arm, wordlessly and without even a single sign. She knows the gesture and accepts my proposal. Perhaps there have been enough memories for one day. And so, arms intertwined, we march back up the staircase, shutting off the lights when we reach the halfway point.
The door shuts on today's walk back in time. But not necessarily forever.
“Hey!” a familiar voice booms. “Was that the door on my basement?!”
Remind me why this girl is worth it again?
Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 9/27)
Very nicely done. Your Shizune is adorable, and I love how playful she and Hisao are together. Also, Claire de Lune is probably my favorite classical song. :3
Keep writing~!
Keep writing~!
Fanfics:
Hyacinth (Lilly neutral) [WIP]
Vekter's One-Shot Feels Emporium (18+, updated semi-weekly)
Twitter | Pastebin | Steam
Hyacinth (Lilly neutral) [WIP]
Vekter's One-Shot Feels Emporium (18+, updated semi-weekly)
Twitter | Pastebin | Steam
Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 9/27)
The playfulness is intended. It's how they act in the few scenes they have alone. They banter, are sarcastic with each other, play mind games... it's entertaining to watch, and definitely entertaining to write.Vekter wrote:Very nicely done. Your Shizune is adorable, and I love how playful she and Hisao are together. Also, Claire de Lune is probably my favorite classical song. :3
Keep writing~!
Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 9/27)
Been a while since I wrote my favorite girl. A bit of pre-history, including a double feature with Emi! Short, kinda rushed for a KSG contest. But I like how it turned out.
A Master Stroke
pastebin:
Shizune twirled a pen between her fingers, caught in the middle of a thought before recording it on her paper. She often did this when it was her turn to oversee detention: homework, student council business, anything to pass the time. As maddeningly boring as it was for those being punished, she could almost tear her hair out if there wasn't anything to do. At least the little delinquents wouldn't be able to pester her with their rambunctious attitudes.
That, of course, meant that she had to glance up every now and then. However, with only one student to look over for today's session, she didn't think to do it as often. That didn't stop her subject from continually bothering her with notes, a desperate form at communication with the deaf-mute. 'Lesson learned:,' Shizune thought, 'never underestimate the power of one student to endlessly frustrate you.'
She looked to her side, a small piece of paper now sitting on the edge of her desk. Frowning, she opened the note, glancing over their previous conversation, each participant denoted by a different color pen.
“Time?” the note read simply.
Shizune scribbled a response: half past 1500. Detention was just now approaching half-over. The note was filled with these questions, all of them seemingly random. But it was the only way that the two students could communicate. She watched carefully as her subject read the newest message. Her prisoner wrote another response and passed it back.
“Only half done? But it feels like we've been in here for ages...”
Stifling a snicker, Shizune replied, “In a hurry? Maybe you should think about that next time you decide to run through the hallways like that.”
The memories came back to her: Yamaku's track star, the ultimate prize. She and a fellow first-year placed bets on who could catch her first. The 'Fastest Thing on No Legs' - as she liked to call herself - indeed proved elusive. But no one could outrun a Hakamichi forever. The newest member of the student council pulled out all the stops, all of her wit and cunning to bring this hardened criminal to justice.
That is, if you can call an hour's detention after school justice. Though, for Emi Ibarazaki, it just might be, having to miss out on afternoon practice with her friends.
Another message found its way onto Shizune's desk, drawing her back into reality. Spy fantasy would have to wait. “But I've learned my lesson, I swear! Let me go and I promise you won't hear anything from me ever again.”
“That so? Sure you're not just trying to cop out on your punishment?” Shizune returned to her paperwork, barely able to finish a single form before another Emi produced another message.
“Of course not.” She detected a hint of sarcasm in the girl's words. “Wouldn't a slap on the wrist have done the trick? Or something a little less than detention? It's not like I'm some delinquent or anything...”
Ha, if only she knew. The girl had a price on her head for months; she was just too hard-headed to realize it. Rules were rules. Iron-fist, steadfast, no bending. Shizune saw no point to even dignify the runner with a response. She glanced up, noticed Emi's eyes locked onto her, and shoved the note into her lap. 'I will break her, if need be,' Shizune thought. 'Whatever that takes. She will come to see reason.'
The councilmember continued with her paperwork: a combination of officer application forms and the standard daily regiment of student attendance sheets. The former was more important to her. None in Yamaku doubted Shizune's craving for power, and she definitely acted the role of a council president. She merely had to win the hearts and minds of the people. Easier said than done when she couldn't even communicate with them properly.
Perhaps, she wondered, it would be possible to bring in a transfer student as an interpreter? It would make life around school much easier. She could go without all the note-passing and lip-reading that normally accompanied her daily life. And it definitely beat option two: learning to actually talk again. She had sworn off that already. Besides, bringing another person into her life sounded interesting, at least.
Out of the corner of her eye, Shizune noticed another folded slip of paper. She smiled, admiring her captive's persistence. It was almost like an arms race of willpower, seeing who would waiver first. For a moment, Shizune thought it might actually be her, for once.
She opened the note. “I don't really see a reason for me to hang around here.” Glancing up, she caught sight of Emi folding her arms across her chest, adopting a stern expression. “There's gotta be a chance for first-time offenders to be laid off the hook, right?” First-time offenders? She dared use that term in reference to herself? Nonsense, absolute nonsense.
Shizune tapped her chin, pondering the possibilities. Sitting here had already proved incessantly boring, and here lay an opportunity to liven up her day. After a round of classes and paperwork, couldn't she use a little excitement? Far be it for the eldest Hakamichi child to turn down another game in this match of cat-and-mouse. Would the girl be a challenge? 'Certainly not,' she scoffed to herself. 'But everyone enjoys dominating another person on occasion.'
Emi would win this round, at least. But there was no way Shizune would let her win the war. “A game,” she wrote. “My game. Chess. I win, you sit tight, no more complaining. No more note-passing. Silence, by the book. You win? You go free, and I won't prescribe detention again. And I'll see to it that you aren't bothered by the rest of the student council, either.” A risky proposition, but Shizune never made offers so clearly in her opponent's favor without a sure sense of victory. “Deal?”
She passed the note back to Emi, returning to her papers. A few moments later, the paper re-appeared on her desk.
“Deal.”
'Let the games begin,' Shizune thought, smirking as she rose from her chair, proud and ready to subject Emi to a crushing defeat. The track star remained seated, calmly anticipating the start of their game. A sense of doubt clouded her mind. Could she win this? Her guard seemed rather eager to step up to the plate, as if she knew that there was no way that she would lose. But, the wager seemed worth it: the chance at going free far outweighed having to sit in silence for the next God-only-knows how long.
Producing a small wooden box from the room's sole wardrobe, Shizune made her way to Emi's desk, chin tilted high in the air. She was guilty of counting her chickens in the past, but this one had to happen the way she envisioned it. Did the girl even know how to play chess? Surely, her jock pea-brain had no comparison to the superior intellect of a student council member. She would be ruined, and there would be nothing left but ashes to be swept away by the overnight janitor.
Much to Shizune's surprise, however, Emi helped set up the board. She knew where each piece went, even the proper alignment of black and white king-queen pairs. The girl was certainly full of surprises.
A pair of small wooden dishes folded out on both sides of the board, a container for slain soldiers in this ancient war game. Already, Shizune could see the white pieces filling the tray as she took them from Emi one by one.
With the stage set, pieces all in their proper position, the girls took their places on each side of the board. Emi brought her prosthetics beneath her thighs, sitting on top of them. Shizune crept forward, leaning against folded arms on the table. She had decided to grant her opponent at least a small advantage with the first move.
Reluctantly, Emi lifted her king's pawn, moving it forward two squares. Shizune responded accordingly, and the girls went through basic opening moves. As unorthodox as her movements were, the track star at least knew the basics of chess: how the pieces moved, captures, and the like... but she was unsure of how that would fare against someone as into the game as her foe.
The silence accompanying the game almost drove her mad. No communication, no sense in saying anything. Is this what miss dictator-in-training lived like on a day-to-day basis? She grumbled a few times, just to cut through the tension hanging in the air. She pressed her pieces into the board a little harder, both for the amplified sound and to take out an inkling of her frustration with this whole ordeal.
The game proceeded as expected: Shizune's skill at the game proved normally insurmountable for the prisoner. Once they had reached mid-game, the council member had constructed a commanding board position; her king protected by a wall of pawns, both bishops, a knight, a rook, and her queen faced down Emi's bishop, knight, and queen. But Ibarazaki was not one to give up so easily. There had to be a way.
She examined the board as Shizune made her move, capturing Emi's knight with her queen. Was there a way to win now without that knight's support? Her fingers lingered over each piece, lifting and dropping it back into place as she considered her course of action.
Then she saw it, her path to redemption. Shizune had failed to ever move her rook out from the castling position, locking the king in place against the side of the board. She could move the queen to clear a pawn in front of the king with the bishop defending the queen, a clear checkmate.
A few turns later, she had built the board in her favor. The white queen station directly in front of the black king, with a white bishop along the same diagonal. The king was trapped, no legal moves left. Shizune stared at the board in disbelief, struggling to find a way out. But she knew defeat when she saw it, regardless of how much it disappointed her. Shrugging her shoulders, she tipped her king over on its side, resigning the game.
Emi locked eyes with her, teeth bared and beaming. Shizune flicked her wrist, shooing her away for the afternoon. She might be ruthless, but she was at least a woman of her word. The runner complied, packing her belongings before rushing out the door as fast as her legs would carry her. She was free, and she wanted to make the most of it.
Shizune did nothing but smile. Even in defeat, she had grown to respect the girl. Emi was able to see something that even she had missed; that alone deserved admiration. At the very least, she had found something in common with another student. She wasn't sure if it would ever come about again, but... it was always worth a shot.
-------
Cheers, mates.
A Master Stroke
pastebin:
Shizune twirled a pen between her fingers, caught in the middle of a thought before recording it on her paper. She often did this when it was her turn to oversee detention: homework, student council business, anything to pass the time. As maddeningly boring as it was for those being punished, she could almost tear her hair out if there wasn't anything to do. At least the little delinquents wouldn't be able to pester her with their rambunctious attitudes.
That, of course, meant that she had to glance up every now and then. However, with only one student to look over for today's session, she didn't think to do it as often. That didn't stop her subject from continually bothering her with notes, a desperate form at communication with the deaf-mute. 'Lesson learned:,' Shizune thought, 'never underestimate the power of one student to endlessly frustrate you.'
She looked to her side, a small piece of paper now sitting on the edge of her desk. Frowning, she opened the note, glancing over their previous conversation, each participant denoted by a different color pen.
“Time?” the note read simply.
Shizune scribbled a response: half past 1500. Detention was just now approaching half-over. The note was filled with these questions, all of them seemingly random. But it was the only way that the two students could communicate. She watched carefully as her subject read the newest message. Her prisoner wrote another response and passed it back.
“Only half done? But it feels like we've been in here for ages...”
Stifling a snicker, Shizune replied, “In a hurry? Maybe you should think about that next time you decide to run through the hallways like that.”
The memories came back to her: Yamaku's track star, the ultimate prize. She and a fellow first-year placed bets on who could catch her first. The 'Fastest Thing on No Legs' - as she liked to call herself - indeed proved elusive. But no one could outrun a Hakamichi forever. The newest member of the student council pulled out all the stops, all of her wit and cunning to bring this hardened criminal to justice.
That is, if you can call an hour's detention after school justice. Though, for Emi Ibarazaki, it just might be, having to miss out on afternoon practice with her friends.
Another message found its way onto Shizune's desk, drawing her back into reality. Spy fantasy would have to wait. “But I've learned my lesson, I swear! Let me go and I promise you won't hear anything from me ever again.”
“That so? Sure you're not just trying to cop out on your punishment?” Shizune returned to her paperwork, barely able to finish a single form before another Emi produced another message.
“Of course not.” She detected a hint of sarcasm in the girl's words. “Wouldn't a slap on the wrist have done the trick? Or something a little less than detention? It's not like I'm some delinquent or anything...”
Ha, if only she knew. The girl had a price on her head for months; she was just too hard-headed to realize it. Rules were rules. Iron-fist, steadfast, no bending. Shizune saw no point to even dignify the runner with a response. She glanced up, noticed Emi's eyes locked onto her, and shoved the note into her lap. 'I will break her, if need be,' Shizune thought. 'Whatever that takes. She will come to see reason.'
The councilmember continued with her paperwork: a combination of officer application forms and the standard daily regiment of student attendance sheets. The former was more important to her. None in Yamaku doubted Shizune's craving for power, and she definitely acted the role of a council president. She merely had to win the hearts and minds of the people. Easier said than done when she couldn't even communicate with them properly.
Perhaps, she wondered, it would be possible to bring in a transfer student as an interpreter? It would make life around school much easier. She could go without all the note-passing and lip-reading that normally accompanied her daily life. And it definitely beat option two: learning to actually talk again. She had sworn off that already. Besides, bringing another person into her life sounded interesting, at least.
Out of the corner of her eye, Shizune noticed another folded slip of paper. She smiled, admiring her captive's persistence. It was almost like an arms race of willpower, seeing who would waiver first. For a moment, Shizune thought it might actually be her, for once.
She opened the note. “I don't really see a reason for me to hang around here.” Glancing up, she caught sight of Emi folding her arms across her chest, adopting a stern expression. “There's gotta be a chance for first-time offenders to be laid off the hook, right?” First-time offenders? She dared use that term in reference to herself? Nonsense, absolute nonsense.
Shizune tapped her chin, pondering the possibilities. Sitting here had already proved incessantly boring, and here lay an opportunity to liven up her day. After a round of classes and paperwork, couldn't she use a little excitement? Far be it for the eldest Hakamichi child to turn down another game in this match of cat-and-mouse. Would the girl be a challenge? 'Certainly not,' she scoffed to herself. 'But everyone enjoys dominating another person on occasion.'
Emi would win this round, at least. But there was no way Shizune would let her win the war. “A game,” she wrote. “My game. Chess. I win, you sit tight, no more complaining. No more note-passing. Silence, by the book. You win? You go free, and I won't prescribe detention again. And I'll see to it that you aren't bothered by the rest of the student council, either.” A risky proposition, but Shizune never made offers so clearly in her opponent's favor without a sure sense of victory. “Deal?”
She passed the note back to Emi, returning to her papers. A few moments later, the paper re-appeared on her desk.
“Deal.”
'Let the games begin,' Shizune thought, smirking as she rose from her chair, proud and ready to subject Emi to a crushing defeat. The track star remained seated, calmly anticipating the start of their game. A sense of doubt clouded her mind. Could she win this? Her guard seemed rather eager to step up to the plate, as if she knew that there was no way that she would lose. But, the wager seemed worth it: the chance at going free far outweighed having to sit in silence for the next God-only-knows how long.
Producing a small wooden box from the room's sole wardrobe, Shizune made her way to Emi's desk, chin tilted high in the air. She was guilty of counting her chickens in the past, but this one had to happen the way she envisioned it. Did the girl even know how to play chess? Surely, her jock pea-brain had no comparison to the superior intellect of a student council member. She would be ruined, and there would be nothing left but ashes to be swept away by the overnight janitor.
Much to Shizune's surprise, however, Emi helped set up the board. She knew where each piece went, even the proper alignment of black and white king-queen pairs. The girl was certainly full of surprises.
A pair of small wooden dishes folded out on both sides of the board, a container for slain soldiers in this ancient war game. Already, Shizune could see the white pieces filling the tray as she took them from Emi one by one.
With the stage set, pieces all in their proper position, the girls took their places on each side of the board. Emi brought her prosthetics beneath her thighs, sitting on top of them. Shizune crept forward, leaning against folded arms on the table. She had decided to grant her opponent at least a small advantage with the first move.
Reluctantly, Emi lifted her king's pawn, moving it forward two squares. Shizune responded accordingly, and the girls went through basic opening moves. As unorthodox as her movements were, the track star at least knew the basics of chess: how the pieces moved, captures, and the like... but she was unsure of how that would fare against someone as into the game as her foe.
The silence accompanying the game almost drove her mad. No communication, no sense in saying anything. Is this what miss dictator-in-training lived like on a day-to-day basis? She grumbled a few times, just to cut through the tension hanging in the air. She pressed her pieces into the board a little harder, both for the amplified sound and to take out an inkling of her frustration with this whole ordeal.
The game proceeded as expected: Shizune's skill at the game proved normally insurmountable for the prisoner. Once they had reached mid-game, the council member had constructed a commanding board position; her king protected by a wall of pawns, both bishops, a knight, a rook, and her queen faced down Emi's bishop, knight, and queen. But Ibarazaki was not one to give up so easily. There had to be a way.
She examined the board as Shizune made her move, capturing Emi's knight with her queen. Was there a way to win now without that knight's support? Her fingers lingered over each piece, lifting and dropping it back into place as she considered her course of action.
Then she saw it, her path to redemption. Shizune had failed to ever move her rook out from the castling position, locking the king in place against the side of the board. She could move the queen to clear a pawn in front of the king with the bishop defending the queen, a clear checkmate.
A few turns later, she had built the board in her favor. The white queen station directly in front of the black king, with a white bishop along the same diagonal. The king was trapped, no legal moves left. Shizune stared at the board in disbelief, struggling to find a way out. But she knew defeat when she saw it, regardless of how much it disappointed her. Shrugging her shoulders, she tipped her king over on its side, resigning the game.
Emi locked eyes with her, teeth bared and beaming. Shizune flicked her wrist, shooing her away for the afternoon. She might be ruthless, but she was at least a woman of her word. The runner complied, packing her belongings before rushing out the door as fast as her legs would carry her. She was free, and she wanted to make the most of it.
Shizune did nothing but smile. Even in defeat, she had grown to respect the girl. Emi was able to see something that even she had missed; that alone deserved admiration. At the very least, she had found something in common with another student. She wasn't sure if it would ever come about again, but... it was always worth a shot.
-------
Cheers, mates.
-
Mirage_GSM
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Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 11/28)
Hmm... I think you are switching perspectives a few times in that story. The problem is, I don't know where exactly you do it. There are several lines in there where I'm not sure who's thinking what.
Except for that it's a nice one-shot.
Except for that it's a nice one-shot.
Emi > Misha > Hanako > Lilly > Rin > Shizune
My collected KS-Fan Fictions: Mirage's Myths
My collected KS-Fan Fictions: Mirage's Myths
Sore wa himitsu desu.griffon8 wrote:Kosher, just because sex is your answer to everything doesn't mean that sex is the answer to everything.
Re: Shine On You [Shizune]
Oh my God! What did Shizune do to them!?!ProfAllister wrote: Shizune route means you never even see Emi or Rin again.
Not Dead Yet
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hdkv
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Re: DaGarver's Shizune One-Shot Collection (Updated 11/28)
This thread contains one of the best Shizune one-shots ever created. A Long December may actually be considered the best one overall.
Next generation of KS fanfiction readers should definitely check it out.
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